Chapter 3 Chapter 1 (3)

All three are terribly eccentric and childish.Anything sensual that excites them is called "vulgarity" for some reason, and the word is used everywhere, regardless of whether it is appropriate or not.Simply an extreme misnomer. "Vulgarization"-they used it to mean the instinctive voice of man, obscene works, the abuse of women, and even the entire material world.Whenever they said this, their excited faces turned from red to pale. "If I were in Moscow," thought Nikolai Nikolayevich, "I would never let them develop like this. Shame is necessary, but within certain limits..." "Ah Welcome, Neil Feoktistovich." He said loudly, and stepped forward to greet the incoming guests.

A fat man in a gray jacket and a wide belt entered the room.He wore felt boots, and his trousers bulged out at the knees.He gave people the impression that he was an envoy of good deeds shrouded in a colorful auspicious cloud.A pair of pince-nez fastened with a wide black ribbon danced viciously on the nose.In the hallway, he didn't have time to finish what he had to do.The scarf has not been taken off, one end is dragged on the ground, and a round woolen top hat is still held in his hand.These few things prevented him from shaking hands with Nikolai Nikolaevich, or even from greeting him.

"Ah, ah." He replied at a loss, looking around. "Let it go," said Nikolai Nikolaevich, restoring Vivolochinov's speech and self-control. This one was a follower of Leo Nikolaevich Tolstoy.In the minds of these people, the thought of the genius master who is never willing to be lonely is just a dream of enjoying joy in peace, and it has been hopelessly vulgarized. Vivolochinov had come to invite Nikolai Nikolaevich to a school to lecture political exiles. "I've already spoken there once." "Is it for political exiles?" "yes."

"It has to be said again." Nikolai Nikolayevich hesitated a little, then agreed. The matter of the visit was settled, and Nikolai Nikolayevich did not make too much effort to keep Neil Feoktistovich.He could have got up to leave, but he felt that it would be impolite to leave so soon, and he should find a light and lively topic to talk about before leaving.The conversation turned out to be long and unpleasant. "Are you decadent? Falling into mysticism?" "Why is that?" "People are ruined. Remember Zemstvo?" "That goes without saying. We've been planning elections together."

"Still fighting for the country school and the teacher's meeting, remember?" "Of course, it was a tough fight. Then you seem to have moved on to public welfare and social assistance, don't you?" "There was a time." "Yes, but what's in fashion these days are loose shepherds, yellow lily pads, ordained ones, and 'We Shall Be Like the Sun.' Man, a wise man who knows the people so well... well, you don't have to say it... Maybe I'm invading your privacy?" "Why all this nonsense? Why do we have to argue about it? You don't understand my mind at all."

"Russia needs schools and hospitals, not lascivious fauns and yellow water lilies." "No one objects to this." "Country people have nothing to wear, are hungry and swollen..." The conversation went on like this.Realizing that it was pointless to talk like this, Nikolai Nikolaevich explained to him what brought him close to some of the Symbolist writers, and then turned the conversation to Tolstoy. "I agree with you to a certain extent. But Lev Nikolayevich said that if people's pursuit of beauty becomes stronger and stronger, they will be farther and farther away from goodness."

"Do you think it's the other way around? Is it beauty, religious mysteries or something like that, or Rozanov and Yonstoevsky that will save the world?" "Wait a minute, let me talk about my own thoughts. I think that if the fear of prison or afterlife retribution can subdue the sleeping beast in people's hearts, then the whip-wielding beast tamer in the circus is not human. The sublime image, not the preacher who sacrificed himself? The point is that it is not the stick that has made man above the animals for thousands of years, but music, referring here to the irresistible force and power of truth without weapons. The appeal of the example of truth. It is still recognized that the most important ethical precepts and guidelines in the Gospels. I think the most important thing is to understand that when Jesus preached, he often used parables from life to explain the truth with daily life. From The idea here is that intercourse between mortals is immortal, and life is symbolic because it has meaning."

"I don't understand at all. You should write a book of these thoughts." After Vivolochinov left, Nikolai Nikolaevich was very emotional.He resented that he had spoken part of his inner thoughts to the stupid Vivolochinov, but had no effect.Nikolai Nikolaevich's chagrin suddenly changed targets, as usual.He completely forgot about Vivolochinov at once, as if he had never been there at all.He remembered another thing.Nikolai Nikolaevich didn't usually keep a diary, but once or twice a year he would write down his deepest thoughts in a thick ordinary notebook.He took out the notebook and began to write in that large, regular font.Here is what he wrote.

This Schlesinger silly woman made me feel uncomfortable all day.come in the morning I sat there until lunch, reciting crooked poems for two hours.annoying. This is a piece written by symbolist writer A for celestial origin symphony composer B A poem in prose with the gods of the planets, the libretto of four poems and another something.I have been enduring, enduring, and finally couldn't bear it anymore, so I begged: "I can't take it anymore, please go ahead." Suddenly it dawned on me, and I understood why even in Faust This kind of thing is also often about unbearable and false.Modern people don't have this

face requirements.When they are baffled by the mysteries of the universe, they want It is physics, not Hesiod's hexameters, that is delved into. However, the problem is not only with this archaic form, nor with These gods of fire and water re-confuse what science apparently made clear clear, but lies in the spirit, essence and creative motivation of this genre and contemporary art out of place. In the ancient great land where human beings are still rare and nature has not been covered by human beings, On earth, it is natural to believe in the evolution of celestial bodies.There are also mammoths wandering on the ground,

Memories of dinosaurs and various dragons are still fresh.At that time, nature was so compelling, Such a fierce and majestic pounce on the neck of a person seems to be really full of all kinds of spirits. batch.These are the first few pages of the annals of humanity, and only the beginning. Due to overpopulation, this ancient world ended in Rome. Rome was crowded with borrowed gods and conquered peoples into heaven and earth The lower two floors, like a garbage heap of intestines tightly twisted into three knots.There are Daji people, The Heru, the Scythians, the Sarmatians, the Far North, saw no spokes cumbersome wheels, puffy eyes, bestiality, double-dumps, the use of educated slaves The meat of the slaves was fed to the fish, and the emperor who could not read.people are more than ever Many, trampled and suffered in the aisles of the Colosseum. Today, this buoyant, radiant man, emphatically human, deliberately Out of the country atmosphere.This man of Galilee, come to this vulgar marble and gold in the pile.Since then, all nations and gods ceased to exist, and the age of man began. A carpenter, a farmer, a man who herds sheep in the evening sun.people here His voice sounded without the slightest arrogance, he followed the lullabies of his mothers and the world All the galleries on Sublime spread everywhere. Petrov Avenue gives the impression that Petersburg is a corner in Moscow.There are symmetrical buildings on both sides of the street, all of which have exquisitely sculpted doors, and further down are bookstores, reading rooms, photo agencies, high-end tobacco shops and elegant restaurants. Gas lamps in domes. In winter the place is too dark to pass through.It's a place where stable, self-respecting and well-to-do freelancers live. The elegant bachelor-house that Viktor Ippolitovich Komarovsky rented here was on the second floor, leading to it by a wide staircase with a wide, solid oak balustrade.His housekeeper, no, Emma Ernestovna, the matron of his retreat, was interested in everything, inquiring, but seemed not to interfere in anything, was silent. A quiet, unobtrusive person.He responded to her with a gentleman's chivalrous gratitude, and never tolerated at the house guests and visitors who were incompatible with the quiet circle of her old maid's life.Here, monastery-like tranquility reigns supreme—the imperial curtain drooping, as spotless as an operating room. On Sunday mornings Viktor Ippolitovich, as a rule, wandered along Petrov and Kuznetsky Avenues with his bulldog, and at a corner met with the actor and card fan Conn. Standing Ilarionovich Sataniki rendezvous. Together they paced the sidewalk, cracking jokes and exchanging fits and starts of trivial, contemptuous opinions.In fact, even if he didn't speak, a few random hums would have the same effect, but his loud, nonchalant choking, as if trembling, must be heard on the sidewalks on both sides of Kuznetsky Street. A low-pitched voice that holds your breath is the only way to achieve your goal. The weather is also sickly.Drops of water dripped on the tin gutters and eaves.The roofs of each house staggered and made this sound, as if it was spring.The snow has started to melt. She walked in a daze along the way, and it was only when she got home that she realized what had happened. Everyone in the house is asleep.She fell into a state of numbness again, and sat down in front of her mother's small dressing table in a daze. She was wearing a light purple long dress that was close to white, with lace on the dress and a veil.These were brought from the workshop for the masquerade.She sat before her own reflection in the mirror, but could see nothing.Then she put her folded hands on the dresser and rested her head on them. If my mother found out, she would definitely kill her.Beat her to death and kill herself. How did this happen?How could this happen?It's too late now, it should have been thought of beforehand. She was already a depraved woman, as is often said, the kind of woman in a French novel, but tomorrow at school she will sit behind a desk with those schoolgirls who are nothing compared to her. It's a group of breastfeeding children.God, God, how could such a thing happen! Years from now, Lara might tell Olena Gemina all this, if she could.Olina will definitely cry with her. The dripping water outside the window murmured, this is the sound of melting snow.Someone in the street is knocking on the door of a neighbor's house.Lara didn't look up.Her shoulders shook and she cried in pain. "Oh, Emma Ernestovna, my dear, it's not easy. I'm sick of it." He threw sleeves, corsets, and other things on the carpet, on the sofa, and opened and closed the drawers of the chest of drawers, not knowing what he was looking for. He needed her badly, and it was impossible to see her this Sunday.Komarovsky walked about the room like a wild animal, restless. Her soul is beyond beautiful.Her hands were as captivating as sublime mental images can astonish.Her shadow cast on the wallpaper in the room is like a pure silhouette.The close-fitting blouse was like a piece of fine linen stretched on an embroidery frame, wrapping her chest snugly and tightly. Komarovsky tapped his fingers rhythmically on the panes of the window, following the footsteps of the slow-moving horses on the asphalt. "Lala." He whispered softly, closed his eyes, and her head pillowed in his arms appeared in his mind.She was asleep, her eyelashes downcast, and she had a carefree air that one could stare at for hours without blinking.Her hair was scattered on the pillow, and her beauty, like a puff of smoke, stung Komarovsky's eyes and invaded his soul. The Sunday walk did not materialize.Komarovsky took Jack only a few steps on the sidewalk before stopping.He thought of Kuznetsky Prospekt, Sataniki's jokes, and the many acquaintances he had met.No, he can't stand it!Komarovski turned back.The dog felt strange, and looked at him from the ground with woodenly happy eyes, and reluctantly followed behind. "Where did the magic come from!" he thought. "What does all this mean? Is it the awakened conscience, pity, and remorse? Maybe it's uneasiness? None of it. He knows she's staying at his home safe and sound, but why can't he miss her all the time?" Komarovsky entered the door and walked up the stairs to the landing that turned in the middle.There is a window in the wall here, the glass corners of which are ornately decorated with arms.The wisps of sunlight that come in are projected colorfully on the floor and window sills.In the middle of the second flight of stairs, Komarovsky stopped. "Never give in to this irritating and piercing anguish! You are no longer a child, you should know that, as a form of diversion, this girl, the daughter of an old friend of yours, is the object of your fascination." , What will be the consequences. Be sober! Be confident and don’t break your habits, otherwise everything will come to naught!” Komarovsky clung to the wide railing so hard his hands ached.He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned resolutely and went downstairs.At the turn of the stairs where the sunlight came in, he saw the reverent gaze of the bulldog.Jack looked up at him, head up, like an elderly scholar with slack cheeks and drooling. The bulldog didn't like the girl, tore her stockings and barked at her.It was not happy that its master went to Lala, as if he was afraid that he would get a human smell from her. "Ah, that's it! You want it to be business as usual too—still sataniki and dirty tricks and dirty jokes? Well, here you go, here you go, here you go!" Komarovsky kicked the paw with his cane and foot.Jack ran away, squealing, and wagging his tail, went up the stairs, with his forelegs on the door, complaining to Emma Ernestovna. Days and weeks passed. What a terrifying ecstasy array this is!If Komarovsky's intrusion into Lala's life only aroused her resentment and disgust, Lala could have resisted and managed to get rid of it.However, things are not that simple. The girl herself was pleased that this man, who could be a father at his age, whose face was beginning to bald, who was popular at parties and mentioned in the newspapers, was spending money and time on her, calling her Goddess, accompanied her to theaters and concerts, so-called "spiritual development" for her. She was just an underage boarding school girl in a long brown dress, and she was involved in all the innocent pranks at school.Whether in the presence of the coachman in the carriage, or in the quiet box of the theater under the warm eyes of everyone, Komarovsky's ambiguous and bold behavior captivated her and aroused her heart gradually. Awakened also want to imitate some bad ideas. But this enthusiasm for student mischief soon passed.A piercing depression and fear of herself remained in her heart for a long time, and took root there.She was always wanting to sleep, from insomnia at night, from crying and constant headaches, from reciting lessons and from general physical fatigue. He was the one she cursed and she hated him.This is what she thinks about every day. Now he has become his slave for life.How did he subdue her?With what frightened her into submission, and she yielded, to satisfy his desire, to please him with a tremor of undisguised shame?Could it be that because of the difference in status, his mother relied on him for money, and he was good at intimidating her?No, neither.All this is nonsense. It is not that she is dominated by him, but that he is dominated by her.Couldn't she see how he was troubled by her.Lara is fearless and has a clean conscience.If she exposes all this, he should be ashamed and afraid.Yet therein lies the problem, because she would never do that.She was not so vile, and had not had Komarovsky's cruelty to his subordinates and the weak. This is the difference between him and her.Therefore, she also felt more and more terrible about the life around her.What in life shocked her?Is it thunder, or lightning?No, side glances and whispered slander.There are tricks and ambiguities everywhere.Each thread is like a spider's thread, and when you pull it, the thread will be broken, but if you want to break free from this web, you can only be entangled more tightly by it. The mean and the cowardly rule over the strong. She also asked herself: How would it be different if she were a married woman?She began to resort to sophistry.At times, a hopeless melancholy took hold of her. How shamelessly he crouched at her feet again and begged: "This cannot go on. Think what I have done with you. You are sliding down the steep slope. Let us admit it to your mother. I'll marry you." He cries and persists, as if she's arguing and disagreeing.But it was just empty words, and Lara didn't even bother to listen to his tragic empty words. But he continued to take her in the long veil to a separate room in that dreadful restaurant.Waiters and customers watched her with eyes that seemed to strip her naked.She could only ask herself: "Should people be humiliated when they love each other?" Once she had a dream: she was buried in the earth, and all that was left outside was her left rib, left shoulder, and right sole; a tuft of grass grew from her left breast, and people sang "Black Eyes" on the ground. and White Breasts" and "Don't Let Martha Cross the Creek". Lara is not religious and doesn't believe in church ceremonies.But in order to bear the weight of life, sometimes some kind of inner music is needed.This kind of music is not always written by yourself.It was God's word about life, and Lara went to church to cry for him. One day in early December, Lala's mood was like that of Katerina in "The Big Thunderstorm".When she ran to pray, it seemed that the ground under her feet would split open at any moment, and the dome of the church would collapse at any moment.deserve it.Let it all be over.It's a pity that she brought the talker of Aulini Jermyn. "Look, that's Prov Afanasyevich," Orinian whispered in her ear. "Hush, don't talk. Which Prof Afanasyevich?" "Plov Afanasyevich Sokolov, my cousin. The one reading the scriptures." "Hey, you're talking about that chanter, a relation of the Divershins. Hush, keep quiet. Leave me alone." When they came in, the ceremony had just begun.People were singing a hymn: "Praise be to my Lord, my soul, and all that I have, praise to the name of the Lord." The church seemed empty, echoing everywhere.Only a group of praying people crowded in front.The house was new, and the untinted panes did not add color to the gray snow-covered alleys and the passing people.Before this window stood the elder of the church, disregarding the prayers that were going on, speaking to a dull deaf beggar in a voice that could be heard by all, as dull and level as the window and the alley beyond. Feeling a few copper coins in her hand, Lala slowly walked around the praying people, went to the door to get candles for herself and Aulini, and then returned to the back carefully not to bump into anyone.By this time Prov Afanasyevich had read nine passages hastily, as if reading something already familiar to everyone. "Blessed are those who are empty in heart...blessed are they who weep bitterly...blessed are they who yearn and pursue the truth..." Lala walked, shivered, and stopped.This is about her.He said: The fate of the downtrodden is to be envied.They have a lot to say about themselves.Their future is limitless.That's what he thinks.This is what Christ meant. It was the day of the armed uprising in the Presnya district.They happen to live in the uprising area.A barricade was erected on Tverskaya Street a few steps away from them, visible from the hotel window.Barricades were poured with buckets of water from the yard in order to freeze together the stones and scrap iron from which they were built. In the courtyard next door is the assembly point for volunteers, some of which are like an ambulance station and a food supply point. Two boys went there.Lara knew both of them.One was Nadya's friend Nika Dudorov, whom Lara met at the former's house.His personality is similar to Lala's - straightforward, aloof, and not talkative.He is similar to Lala and does not interest her. The other was Antipov, a student of the vocational school, who lived in the house of Olini Demina's grandmother, Mrs. Zivershin.Lara had already felt the influence she had on the boy when she went to Marfa Gavrilovna's.Pasha Antipov hadn't lost his childish simplicity, and made no secret of the joy her coming brought him, as if Lala was a small white forest in summer, with fresh grass all over the ground, and the sky floating like Xu's white cloud, so there is no need to hide the ecstasy of jumping up and down like a calf, and there is no need to worry about others' ridicule. As soon as Lara discovered the influence she had over him, she began to exploit it without knowing it.It was years later, however, later in their relationship, that she took his docile nature more seriously.At that point, Patullia knew he was madly in love with her and knew that he had no choice in his life. These two boys were playing one of the most dreadful adult games, the game of war, in which men were either hanged or exiled.But the long-eared hoods on their heads were still knotted from the back, which clearly showed that they were only two children, and they were both disciplined by their parents.Lara looked at them as adults look at children.There is a flavor of innocence in their dangerous amusements.Everything else is also branded with this mark.The cold winter evening seems to be covered with a layer of black and heavy frost; there is also this gray-blue courtyard and the house opposite where the children are hiding.And the main thing was the constant sound of pistol fire from there. "Boys are shooting," Lara thought.She was thinking not only of Nika and Patulia, but of the whole city that had been shot. "Two good honest boys," she thought, "and they shot because they were good boys." They heard there might be shooting at the barricades and that their house was in danger.But it was too late to consider moving to an acquaintance's house in another district of Moscow, which was already under siege.They could only find a corner near the encirclement, so they thought of the "Black Mountain" hotel. It turned out that they were not the only ones who thought of this place first.The hotel was full, and there were many others in the same situation as them.It was only because they were considered regular customers that he agreed to put them in the quilt. The suitcase was too conspicuous, so they packed the most necessary things into three packages, delaying the date of moving into the hotel day by day. Because the workshop is full of quaint customs, the workers continue to work until this day despite the strike outside.But on that cold, dreary evening, someone outside rang a bell.The people who came in made accusations.Everyone asked the shopkeeper to go to the gate.Faina Sirandyevna went into the hall to appease the visitor. "Girls, come here!" After a while she called all the female workers there and introduced them to the people who came in one by one.The man shook hands with everyone warmly and awkwardly, said something to Fedisova, and went away. When the girls returned to the hall, they began to put on their shawls, and each of them raised their hands above their heads and put them into the sleeves of their thin fur coats. "What's the matter?" asked Amalyya Karlovna, hurrying up. "Turn us out, ma'am, we're on strike." "Is there something I'm sorry for you?" Mrs. Guisar cried. "Amaline Karlovna, don't be sorry. We mean no ill will to you, but are very grateful to you. It's not your fault, it's not our fault. It's the way everyone is doing now, the whole world. What is the way to oppose it?" They were all gone, even Oliya Demina and Faina Silandyevna.The latter whispered to the shopkeeper at the time of farewell that it was in the interest of the owner and the workshop that he had to pretend to be on strike.But the shopkeeper has not calmed down. "How ungrateful! I can't believe they've been mistaken! Take that girl, for instance, with whom I've had so much trouble! Well, even if she's a child, there's that old hag!" "You should understand, Mom, they can't make an exception for us." Lala reassured her. "No one is mean to us, quite the contrary. Everything that is going on around us is for the rights of man, for the protection of the weak, for the happiness of women and children. Yes, that's true, you don't have to shake your head in disbelief. Someday it will be good for me and good for you" But mother couldn't understand at all. "It's like this every time," she said sobbing, "I'm already in a mess, but you still say such things, people can only stare in surprise when they hear it. It's riding on my head to shit, you still It's good for me. No, I must be old-fashioned." Luo Jia is still in the Arms Academy.Lala and mother were the only ones left in the empty building.Unlit streets and houses stared at each other with empty eyes. "Go to the hotel, mother, before it's dark. Do you hear, mother? Go at once." "Filat, Filat." They called to the gatekeeper. "Philat, take us, my dear, to the 'Black Mountain' hotel." "Yes, ma'am." "Take your bags. And, Ferat, please take care of me here for a while. Don't forget to feed and water the bird Kirill Modejestovich. Everything is locked up. .Also, please visit us often.” "Yes, ma'am." "Thank you, Ferat. Christ bless you. Well, let's part, let's sit together for a while, God bless you." When they came to the street, it was like recovering from a serious illness, and they couldn't adapt to the fresh air at once.The mellow, smooth sound that seems to have been processed by a lathe is gently scattered in all directions in the cold and clear space.The sound of cannons and guns sounded like they were going to blow up the distance into a pile of ruins. No matter how Ferat persuaded Lara and Amalita Karlovna that the guns were actually being fired, they still believed that they were only firing empty guns. "Firat, you are so stupid. Think about it, there is no one who makes a fuss, so how could it not be an empty gun. According to you, who is shooting, could it be the Holy Spirit? Of course it is an empty gun." At an intersection, patrols stopped them.Grinning Cossacks searched them, looking from head to toe with impudence.Their laced beanies were pulled fiercely over their ears, and each of them seemed to have but one eye. "How nice!" thought Lara, not to see Komarovsky again while they were cut off from the rest of the city.Because of her mother, she couldn't cut off contact with him.She couldn't say: Mother, don't receive him.Then everything becomes public.So what?Why did Bo say that?Oh God, let it all be over, if only this could be over.God, God!She was so disgusted that she would pass out in the street.But what did she think of now? !What's the name of that horrible picture of a fat Roman in the same room where it started happening?It seems to be called "The Woman or the Vase".Not bad, of course.This is a famous painting.Compared with this treasure, she was not a woman at that time, but later.The table setting was really ostentatious. "Where are you going, so fast? I can't keep up with you," cried Amalny Karlovna from behind, panting, and barely keeping up with her.Lara was propelled by something, a proud, exhilarating force propelling her as if sprinting through the air. "How ringing the gun," she thought, "blessed is the downtrodden, blessed is the insulted. Guns, may God bless you! Guns, guns, feel the same Bar!" The house of the Gromyko brothers stood on the corner of Sivtsev-Vrazik Street and another alley.Alexander Alexandrovich and Nikolai Alexandrovich Gromyko were both professors of chemistry, the former at the Petrovsky Institute and the latter at the university.Nikolai Alexandrovitch was a bachelor, and Alexander Alexandrovitch was married to Anna Ivanovna.Her maiden name was Krüger, her father was an iron mine owner, and she also had a large forest villa near Yuriakin in the Urals, where there were several abandoned mines without income. Their house is a two-story building.Upstairs were the bedrooms, the children's study room, Alexander Alexandrovich's workshop and library.There was also Anna Ivanovna's little drawing-room, the rooms where Tonina and Yura lived; downstairs was where the guests were received.The gray-green windows, the mirror-like light spots on the grand piano cover, the fish tank, the olive furniture and the indoor plants that look like algae give the downstairs reception room the impression of a dreamy floating green seabed. . The Gromekos were very cultured, generous and hospitable people, very fond of and understood music.They often invite some people to give chamber concerts of piano, violin solo and string quartet in their own homes. In January 1906, shortly after Nikolai Nikolayevich left the country, another evening of chamber music was to be given as usual on Sivtsev Street.A new violin sonata and Tchaikovsky trio by a budding composer of the Takhanev school are scheduled to be performed. Preparations started the day before, moving the furniture aside and clearing out the large living room.In one corner of the hall, the tuner played the same note a hundred times, and then popped a series of notes like beads.The kitchen was busy removing chicken feathers, washing vegetables, and mixing mustard into olive oil for sauces and cold dishes. Shura Schlesinger was annoying early in the morning.She was Anna Ivanovna's close friend and lawyer. Shura Schlesinger was a masculine-looking woman with a regular face and a tall, lanky figure.Her appearance is somewhat similar to that of the emperor, especially when she is wearing that lambskin hat slantingly.She did not take off her hat when she was a visitor, but raised the veil which was buttoned on it a little. Whenever the sad and upset are tuned in, the friends' conversation can lighten both.The relief lies in the fact that they both utter increasingly vicious quips to each other.A storm breaks out, but it quickly ends in tears and reconciliation.This periodic bickering has a calming effect on both parties, like bloodletting with water frogs. Shura Schlesinger had been married several times, but once she got divorced, she forgot about her husband and ignored him, so she still retained the cold and fickle nature of a single woman. Shura Schlesinger is a theosophist, and she is very clear about the entire set of rituals of the Orthodox Church, including teleportation, so when she is very excited, she can't help but remind the clergy what to say , what to sing, and her hoarse, blurted prompts were heard constantly: "Listen, my Lord God," "Everywhere, always," "Angel of Glory," and so on. Shura Schlesinger knew mathematics and Indian esoteric teachings, knew where famous professors at the Moscow Conservatory lived and who lived with whom.God, there was nothing she didn't know.Because of this, she is always invited to judge and mediate any important things that happen in daily life. When the appointed time came, the guests arrived one after another.Adelaida Filippovna, Ginz, the Fuvkovs, Mr. and Mrs. Basulman, the Verzhitskys, and Colonel Kavkaztsev came.It was snowing, and every time the main door of the front hall was opened, the air-conditioning rushing in seemed to be wrapped in snowflakes of different sizes.男人们从寒冷的街上进来，脚上穿的是宽松的深筒长靴，一个个都装出心不在焉和呆头呆脑的样子，可是那些在严寒中容光焕发的太太们，解开皮大农最上边的两个扣子，蒙上一层白霜的头发后边披着毛茸茸的头巾，反而像是老好巨滑的骗子、奸诈的化身，没人敢惹。 “居伊的侄子。”当一位初次被邀请的新的钢琴家来到的时候，大家相互低声转告。 通过两端开着的侧门，从大厅可以看到餐室里已经摆好一条长桌，像冬天覆盖着白雪的一条路似的。颗粒状花纹瓶里的花揪露酒闪光耀眼。银托架上摆着各种装着奶油、香酵的小巧玲现的五味汁瓶，唤起你的种种想象。一盘盘野味和冷荤拼成的彩色图画，乃至折成三角形的餐巾、排列整齐的刀叉和花篮里散发出杏仁味的蓝紫色的小花，都刺激着人的食欲。为了不拖延品尝这人间美味的渴望的时刻，大家尽快开始精神的筵席。他们在客厅里一排排地就了座。当钢琴家在钢琴前坐下来的时候，又听到人们低声在说：“居伊的侄子。”音乐会开始了。 大家事先就知道，打头的这首奏鸣曲枯燥而做作。结果不出所料，而且曲子长得不得了。 关于这支奏鸣曲，休息的时候评论家克林别科夫还和亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇争论了一番。评论家骂这支曲子，亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇却替它辩护。周围都是吸烟的人，响起一片移动椅子的声音。 但是大家的目光再次落到隔壁餐桌上那张浆洗得平整光洁的桌布上，于是齐声建议音乐会赶快继续下去。 钢琴家用眼角扫了一下听众，向合奏者点了点头，示意开始演奏。小提琴手和特什克维奇挥动琴弓，如泣如诉的三重奏开始了。 尤拉，东尼娜，还有大部分时间都在格罗梅科家寄居的米沙·戈尔东，三个人一起坐在第三排。 “叶戈罗夫娜向您打手势。”尤拉低声告诉坐在他前面的亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇。 客厅门槛旁边站着头发斑白的格罗梅科家的老女仆阿格拉费娜·叶戈罗夫娜。她用焦急的目光向尤拉这边望着，同时朝亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇使劲点头，让尤拉明白她有急事找主人。 亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇掉过头来，责怪地看了叶戈罗夫娜一眼，耸了耸肩膀。叶戈罗夫娜并不罢休，于是两个人就在大厅的这一头和那一头像聋哑人那样“交谈”起来。大家都朝他们看去，安娜·伊万诺夫娜狠狠地瞪了丈夫几眼。 亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇站起身来。应当想法处理一下。他红着脸从墙边绕过大厅走到叶戈罗夫娜跟前。 “您怎么不懂规矩，叶戈罗夫娜！您有什么大不了的事？好吧，快说，出了什么事？” 叶戈罗夫娜低声对他说了几句话。 “从哪个'黑山'来的时 “'黑山'旅馆。” "so what?" “要求马上回去，他的一个什么亲戚快要死了。” “都快死了。我想象得出来。不行，叶戈罗夫娜。等演奏完了一小段，我就去说，早了可不行。” “来送信的茶房等着哪，赶车的也等着哪。我跟您说，人快死了，您明白吗？是位太太。” “不行，不行。大不了就是五分钟，有什么了不起的？” 亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇又蹑手蹑脚地沿着墙回到自己的座位，皱起眉头，用手揉鼻梁。 第一乐章结束后，他走到演奏的人跟前，在大家的掌声中，告诉法杰伊·卡济米罗维奇外面有人找他，出了一件不幸的事，演奏只好中止。然后，亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇用手掌向客厅里的人挥了挥，让大家停止鼓掌，大声说道： “先生们，三重奏不得不停下来。让我们向法杰伊·卡济米罗维奇深表同情。他遇到了心烦的事，不得木离开我们。在这种时候，不能让他一个人走。我陪他去可能是必要的，我跟他一同去。尤罗奇卡，亲爱的，出来一下，告诉谢苗把车赶到大门口来，他早就套好车了。先生们，我不和诸位告别。请大家留下来，我只是暂时离开一会儿。” 两个男孩子请求跟亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇一起在寒夜里坐车兜兜风。 虽然生活已经恢复正常，十二月以后有些地方仍有枪声，新的火灾也时有发生，好像早先的余烬还未烧完似的。 他们从来还没有像今天夜里坐车走这么远，走这么久。离“黑山”旅店只有一箭之遥，穿过斯摩棱斯克大街、诺温斯克大街和花园路的一半就到了，但酷烈的寒雾把天昏地暗的空间隔成一块一块的，仿佛它在世界各处都不相同。黄火的浓烟、马蹄的喀塔声和滑轨的轧轧声加强了这种印象，让人觉得已经走了不知多久的路，而且驶入了令人惊骇的远方。 旅店门前停着一匹披着马衣、缠着跨腕骨的马，套在一辆窄小、讲究的雪橇上。驭者座上坐着一个马车夫，用戴着手套的双手抱住缩进脖子里的脑袋取暖。 旅店的前厅很暖，在把入口处和存衣室隔开的栏杆后面，守门人在打诚地，鼓风机的噪音、熊熊炉火的呼呼声和沸腾的茶炊的尖叫声催得他昏昏欲睡，但又不时被自己响亮的鼾声惊醒。 前厅左边的镜子面前站着一个浓妆艳抹的太太，由于脂粉涂得过多，脸孔显得虚肿，身上穿了一件在这种天气里过于单薄的皮上衣。这位太太正在等人从楼上下来，她转过身背朝着镜子，一会儿从左边肩头、一会儿从右边肩头打量自己，看看自己从后面看上去是不是好看。 冻僵了的车夫从外边探进身子来，长上衣的形状看起来像招牌上画的8字形小面包，身上冒出的一股股哈气更加强了这种印象。 “他们快来了吗，小姐？”他向站在镜子前面的女人问道。“跟你们这帮人打交道，马准保要冻坏。” 二十四号客房里发生的事不过是茶房们平时最恨的一件小事。走廊里几乎每分钟都要响起铃声，墙上玻璃长匣子里就跳一个号码，告诉你是哪个房里的客人发神经病了，自己也不知道要干什么，就是不让茶房安生。 现在正给二十四号客房里的老傻瓜吉沙罗娃急救，给她灌催吐剂，洗肠胃。女仆格拉莎忙得团团转，又是擦地板，又是把脏桶提出来，把干净的桶送进去。眼下的这场风波早在这阵慌乱之前就在下房里开始了，不过那时候还没觉得会出什么事，还没有派捷廖什卡坐车去请大夫和这位可怜的提琴师，科马罗夫斯基也还没来，门前走廊里也没聚集这么多人妨碍走动。 今天发生在下房里的这场乱子，起因是白天在窄小的过道里不知谁从小吃间里出来，转身的时候不留心碰了餐厅招待员瑟索伊一下，刚巧他右手高举着摆满菜肴的托盘，弯着身子从门里飞跑进走廊。瑟索伊扔了托盘，泼了汤，打碎了三个深盘子和～个浅盘子。 瑟索伊一口咬定碰他的那个人就是女洗碗工，应该让她赔，扣她的工钱。现在已经到了晚上十一点钟，一半人快下工了，可他们还在为这件事争吵不休。 “都是你手脚发颤，白天黑夜就知道像接老婆一样搂着你那酒瓶子，连鼻子都舔饱了，像公鸭那样。干吗要碰人家，砸了盘子又拨了汤！谁撞你了，你这个不要脸的斜眼鬼？谁撞了你？” “马特廖娜·斯捷潘诺夫娜，我已经跟您说了，您讲话可要当。乙” “又吵又闹，又摔盘子打碗的，要是值得也就算了。什么稀罕东西，骚货太太，小心眼的小市民，好好地的就要吞砒霜，这种过时的贞洁。我们在'黑山'旅店里干了不少年，还没见过这号拨弄是非的婆娘和欺侮女人的公狗。” 米沙和尤拉在门前的过道里走来走去。这一切都出乎亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇的意料之外。他原先以为大提琴家生活中出现悲剧，准是某种纯洁而庄严的不幸。可鬼知道这算什么。不外乎是肮脏下贱的丑事，尤其是对孩子们来说。 两个男孩子在走廊里来回转。 “你们进去看看大婶吧，少爷们。”条房走到男孩们跟前，再次不紧不慢地说。“你们进去吧，别犹豫了。放心吧，他们都没事了，都好好儿的。这里不能站人。今天就在这个地方发生了那件倒霉的事，把贵重的餐具摔碎了。你们瞧，我们得随时伺候着，跑来跑去，这地方窄，你们进去吧。” 两个孩子听从了。 客房里点着的煤油灯，已经从吊在餐桌上方的灯架挪到房间另半边，中间隔了一道发出臭虫气味的屏风。 那一边有个睡人的角落，被一条落满尘土、掀起的门帘隔开，遮住前室和外人的视线。大家在忙乱中忘记把它放下来，只是下半边搭在屏风的上面。煤油灯就放在一把扶手椅里。这一角像剧场脚灯从下向上照着似的，亮得刺眼。 太太吞服的是碘，不是洗碗女工胡说的砒霜。屋里有一股嫩核桃果皮发出的酸涩难闻的气味，尚未变硬的果皮让人摸得发了黑。 一个姑娘在屏风后面擦地板，床上躺着一个被水、汗和眼泪弄得浑身精湿的半裸的女人。她把头俯在一个面盆上大声哭号，粘成一缕一缕的头发披散下来。两个男孩子立刻把眼睛掉开，往那边看实在不好意思，不成体统。不过，已经让尤拉感到惊讶了：当女人处于木舒服的竖立姿势中，在紧张和吃力的状态下，就不再是雕塑所表现的女性，而成了肌肉发达的穿着短裤参加比赛的半裸的角力士。 屏风那边终于有人想到应该把帘子放下来。 “法杰伊·卡济米罗维奇，亲爱的，您的手在哪儿？把您的手给我。”女人说，眼泪和恶心憋得她喘不过气来。“唉，我这是经受了多么可怕的事呀！我太多心了！法杰伊·卡济米罗维奇……我觉得…··不过还算幸运，原来这都是蠢念头，是我的想像力错乱了，简直难以想象，法杰伊·卡济米罗维奇，真不得了，心想多轻松啊！结果……您看，我还活着。” “安静点，阿马利姐·卡尔洛夫娜，求求您，安静下来。这真不像话，老实说，太不像话了。” “咱们马上回家。”亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇对孩子们嘟嚷一声。他们窘得不知如何是好，站在昏暗的过道里，就在客房没有隔开的那一半的门槛上，因为他们不自在，便望着原来放灯的方向。那边墙上挂了几张照片，地上放着一个琴谱架，书桌上堆满纸张和画册；铺着手织台市的餐桌的那边，一个姑娘坐在扶手椅上睡觉，双手拢着椅子扶手，脸也贴在上面。她大概疲乏到了极点，周围的吵闹声和人的走动并没有妨碍她睡觉。 他们到这儿来可说是毫无意义，而且继续再呆下去也不礼貌。“马上就走，”亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇又说了一遍，“等法杰伊·卡济米罗维奇出来，我就向他告别。” 从屏风后面出来的却是另一个人。这是一个身体健壮的男子，脸刮得干干净净，威风凛凛，十分自信。他把从灯架上取下来的那盏灯举在头顶上，走到姑娘睡觉的那张书桌跟前，把它放在灯架上。亮光惊醒了那个姑娘。她朝这人笑了一笑，微微眯起眼睛，伸了个懒腰。 一见到这个陌生人，米沙不觉全身颤抖了一下，两眼死死地盯着他看，同时扯了一下尤拉的衣袖，想对他说什么。 “你在生人面前南咕什么，多不害臊？人家会怎么看你？”尤拉止住了他，而且也不听他说。 这时，在姑娘和那个男人之间演出了一幕哑剧。两个人一句话也没说，只是交换一下眼色，但相互的理解简直像着了魔法似的。他仿佛是耍木偶戏的，而她就是任凭他耍弄的木偶。 脸上露出的疲倦的微笑使姑娘半闭着眼睛，半张开嘴唇。对那男人嘲弄的眼色，她则报以一个同谋者的狡黠的眨眼。两个人都挺满意，因为结果如此圆满，隐私没有暴露，服毒的也没死。 尤拉死死地盯着他们。他从谁也看不见的昏暗中不转眼地望着灯光照亮的地方。姑娘屈从的情景显得不可思议的神秘而又厚颜无耻的露骨。他心里充满矛盾的感情。尤拉的感情被这些从未体验过的力量揪成一团。 这也就是他同米沙和东尼娜一直不断热烈争论的、并称之为什么也说明不了的庸俗的那种东西，就是那种即使他们惊恐又吸引他们的东西，在安全距离内口头上容易对付的东西。而现在出现在尤拉眼前的正是这种绝对物质的、模糊的力量，既是毫无怜悯的毁坏性的，又是哀怨并且求助的。他们的童稚哲学到哪儿去了？尤拉现在该怎么办？ “你知道这个人是难吗？”他们走出门外以后米沙问道。尤拉只顾想自己的心事，没有回答。 “这就是教会你父亲喝酒并害死他的那个人。记得吗，在火车上，我对你讲过。” 尤拉想的是那个姑娘和未来，而不是父亲和过去。开始他甚至没弄明白米沙说的是什么。在严寒的天气里无法交谈。 “冻坏了吧，谢苗？”亚历山大·亚历山德罗维奇问了一句。他们坐上车走了。